Personal Training
by Rosslyn
Summary: Reese decides to give Finch some personal training in the field. It turns into a game. Finch/Reese, fluff.


**Personal Training**

Person of Interest: John Reese/Harold Finch. Slashy, no like, no read. No own.

Summary: Reese decides to give Finch some personal training in the field. It turns into a game.

* * *

"My attitude remains unchanged pertaining to firearms," said Finch cautiously, when Reese suggested that his employer could use some training in the field. "Although I am glad that you are no longer seeing me as a child."

Reese raised an eyebrow at the remark, vaguely recollecting something he had said a while ago. Well, the man knows how to hold a grudge.

"I don't plan on teaching you the use of firearms any time soon, Harold," Reese said, smiling in a mildly condescending way. "But it would be best if you honed your skills on -" his smile widened into a smirk, "human interactions, for the lack of a better term."

For a moment his employer stared at him, wide eyed and mouth pressed into a thin line, as if he disapproved, but then Finch looked away and seemed slightly crestfallen.

"I have long learnt that people have their natural areas of talent, Mr. Reese," he said, "human interaction is not one of mine."

"All the more reason to practice then," said Reese, tilting his head slightly, a mild curve still upon his lips. "We don't want another slip like Jordan Hester again, now, do we?"

The other man resolutely pursed his lips again. "I will be sure to be wary of anyone who chats me up again, Mr. Reese, especially on the topic of literature and expensive rare books."

To that comment, Reese only studied him with mild interest, like he was a subject of fascination. Then the ex-CIA agent went on with his plans unabashed. "As we have no new Numbers at the moment, I think today is a good day to start training as any. Are you ready, Finch?"

The billionaire looked startled more than anything. "Ready for what?"

Reese smiled his most devious smile yet. "A little roleplay."

* * *

"I don't know what is the point of the pursuit, Mr. Reese, if we have an open line of communication as usual."

Finch was limping along the street, about three blocks away from the library, as he had given (or rather forced to give) Reese a five minute head start. The objective of the training, as he was told, was to find Reese again, tail him, and - quote unquote - "smoothly resolve any situations that might come up".

Finch would have protested; but Reese kept their line open, and having Reese's voice in his ear felt like they were on another operation together, a false sense of familiarity that he tried to cling onto.

"Would you prefer if I went off the grid?" The voice in his ear was silky, almost a purr. "Harold, brave and clever as you are, we have to take things a step at a time."

In all fairness, the rational part of his brain told Finch that it was indeed better if Reese stayed on the line, although it was making him uncomfortable very quickly.

"I don't see you Mr. Reese."

Finch stood at a crossing, turned a full circle, and furrowed his brows.

"I also don't plan to do a lot of the legwork, seeing that my legs don't work very well. So what is the point in all these?"

There was no reply on the line, but a second later Finch caught a swish of black near the corner of a cafe. He quickened his pace, wanting to finish this ridiculous exercise as soon as he could. He thought about telling Reese that he had eyes on him, but decided to stay silent.

Finch turned a corner, and was not planning to slow down when he realised that Reese was standing in front of the cafe, studying its menu, looking for all his part, an innocent bystander wanting lunch.

"You are not on a pursuit," the voice in his ear said, though from where he was standing, Reese barely moved his lips, and seemed to be contemplating between a sandwich or a panini. "The point is for you to tail me and find out as much about me without raising suspicion."

"I'm not supposed to catch you?" Finch wondered, suddenly not knowing what his next step of action would be.

"No, Harold," said Reese, straightening up and going into the cafe, "You already caught me."

Finch froze for a brief second, unable to tear his eyes away. Inside the cafe, Reese bought himself a cup of coffee and a panini, and sat down by the window. The agent seemed oblivious to what he had just said, and started working through his lunch.

But Finch knew that Reese did not like windows, did not like sitting next to one if he could help it, old habits die hard. But Reese did it so he could stay in Finch's view.

Alright, two could play this game.

Brain already rapidly processing data and drawing possible theories and conclusions, Finch breathed once, twice, and regained his composure. He went into the cafe and ordered a Sencha green tea. While waiting in the queue, he noticed that Reese was sitting across from someone who had their laptop open with webcam attached, something he could hack into. Finch allowed himself a tiny smile, and sat down in the seat next to Reese's, his back to his target.

Before he could get anywhere with the webcam on his phone (hacking was that much harder on a smaller device), however, his order arrived, loud and sweet all the way from the kitchen:

"One Sencha green tea for the gentleman over there!"

Finch looked up to say thanks, only to discover that Reese was poking his head over his seat, with a charming smile on his face. In the few seconds as the waitress set down the tea and left, Finch and Reese stared at each other, Reese smiling his mysterious smile, and Finch wondering absently whether the game was off, his partner suddenly realised how stupid it was, or that Reese had finally gone mad.

"Hi," Reese's voice pulled him back to the present, unlike anything he's heard from the man before - it was polite, yet tentative. Not the assured man that he knew Reese was. Finch furrowed his brows in confusion.

"I can't help but overhear your order," said Reese, still in the polite voice of his, before Finch could open his mouth and question him. "I'm a big fan of Japanese green tea myself. Mind if I join you?"

Finch's eyes widened marginally, brain working frantically to put an understanding to his bizarre situation. Then he remembered: "a little roleplay, Finch." "resolve any situation that might come up." "to find out as much about me as you can without raising suspicion."

Oh. _Oh_. That cunning, sly man! He was deliberately confronting Finch, and acting the role. This is the 'what-if-your-target-suddenly-chat-you-up' situation, which he is expected to resolve _smoothly_.

Having worked out Reese's odd behaviour, Finch forcibly relaxes his facial muscles into a warm smile. "Of course. Feel free to sit."

Reese brought his lunch and sat down opposite him, still smiling charmingly, all teeth. One glance and Finch realised Reese - cunning man he is - ordered tea instead of coffee, having clearly foreseen this situation.

Yet - who chats strangers up in a cafe over their choice of beverages?

Then Finch saw the book Reese was carrying, a tiny bit of the cover peeking out from his coat. _A Tale of Two Cities_. Oh, the man.

"It's the best of times, and the worst of times," said Finch quietly, ambiguously.

Reese's character appeared delighted. "And a fan of Dickens too! I knew I could find some cultured conversation in this cafe." when Finch politely showed his confusion, Reese added: "I don't particularly like to eat lunch alone, so if it's not too much of an imposition - "

"Oh, no, by all means," Finch smiled, "I don't particularly like drinking tea alone, either."

Which was a lie.

For a moment or two they stared at each other, Finch trying to catch a glimpse of the mischief Reese is pulling, and Reese, well, god know what he's thinking.

"So do you work around here?" finally Reese asked.

An odd topic to begin with, for someone who claims he wants to talk about japanese tea and Dickens. Finch adds more factors to his brain calculations, and said cautiously, "Sometimes."

"Hmm." Reese gave a noncommittal shrug, which Finch thought was very impressive. The Reese he knew would surely followed up with a subtle question to uncover the details of just where he worked, and when. Then Reese surprised him.

"I work about three blocks away. In a library."

Finch raised an eyebrow. "Are you a librarian?"

"Oh no," Reese's character laughs, an easy laugh not often heard with the man. "Although you can say that my boss is. Kind of. I do the errands for him. He's a rare books collector."

Finch did not like where this was going. But he decided to walk right into the trap anyway. "And what is your boss like?"

"Rich. Eccentric. Reclusive." Reese smiles again, this time with a touch of familiarity as he curves his lips a little around the corner. "The kind of guy you would expect having rare book collecting as a hobby."

"Hmm." Finch played with his teacup. He was beginning to get a sense of where this is going and how it worked, but he patiently waited for more data.

"He's a good man," said Reese, almost as a way of clarification. "Likes his Dickens too. Which is why I was hired."

Reese pulled the book out of his coat, slid off the cover and Finch recognised it immediately as one of the rarer editions of a Tale of Two Cities from his own library. He stared incredulously.

"I see," Finch said slowly, after a few moments. "Well, different people like Dickens for different reasons. Why do you think you - or your employer, for that matter - likes him?"

Finally Reese seems to be caught off guard. Finch made a mental note to ask whether Reese actually had read any Dickens later but pushes the thought away for now. Reese glanced at him, quickly settling back to a polite smile again:

"Um - is it because of the elegant and succinct prose?"

Maybe he haven't read Dickens after all, thought Finch dryly.

Now Reese's character looked sheepish and like a child who had been caught out with a pop quiz. He glanced at his watch quickly. "Oh shoot. I have to go, lunch break is almost over." Reese extended his hand, smiling all teeth again. "It was really nice to talk to you. Hope to see you around?"

Finch shook his hand and gave a curt nod and smile, all the while wondering if he looked completely lost and idiotic to the other man.

As soon as Reese disappeared from his view, the phone rang. Finch pressed his receiver with an inward sigh.

"So," came the silky familiar voice, so familiar it almost washed over him, "what did you find out about me, Finch?"

"That you can be quite perverse, Mr. Reese."

He heard Reese chuckle.

"That is the single most bizarre conversation I have ever had in my life, Mr. Reese."

And I have had a few, thought Finch, with the Machine.

"Sometimes when our target is talkative he has an ulterior motive," came the reply, "catch me again."

Finch glanced down at his phone and saw the GPS tracker rapidly moving. Reese had gotten into a car, then.

He quickly went out of the cafe and hailed a cab, telling the driver to go wherever the GPS led them.

* * *

Finch ran into Reese again at the antique store. Only this time, Finch approached Reese first. Reese looked mildly surprised at his boldness.

"Ah! We meet again." Finch extended his hand and shook them graciously, smiling all warm this time. "Out for an errand for your boss, I see?"

Reese calculated his reply carefully, while maintaining his facade. "Yes, I'm trying to look into some Tolkien manuscripts and drawings. My boss would really like to add Tolkien's hand drawn illustrations of the Shire to his collection."

Finch tilted his head sideways, slightly, as if observing a particular problem, and Reese wondered if his employer was planning a counter attack. Oh this was getting interesting.

"I think I can help you with that," said Finch suddenly, "I know where that manuscript is."

"Really?" Reese was only half surprised, but feigned delight and eagerness in his character nevertheless. Finch regarded him for a moment.

"Yes," said Finch slowly and deliberately, "It's in the British Library."

Reese blinked.

"Should really do your research next time, Mr. Reese," said Finch softly, his eyes not betraying any emotion, yet his tone gentle.

And just like that, Reese smiled the smile of his, truly his, mischievous, self assured, but not unkind. For a moment there it seemed Finch contemplated ending this game and calling it a day, but when he spoke, he spoke again with a new resolve.

"I do however have an early print of a copy of The Wind in the Willows," Finch looked at Reese with all the sincerity of a fellow book collector, "would your employer be interested?"

Reese blinked again. It was indeed the single most bizzare conversation he had ever had with anyone. Finch was, in essence, asking if he himself would be interested in buying a book from he himself.

"I would think so," said Reese, carefully, not holding the cheerful facade anymore, and sounding more like himself. He knew that Finch was more than capable of turning the tables on him if he wanted, and he knew very well he had to tread carefully once Finch had really set his mind to it.

"Tell me more about your employer," Finch said abruptly, turning away and starting to walk out the store, "I like to know my buyers, so I know my books are taken good care of."

Oh, the table has indeed been turned.

Reese followed Finch out of the store into the bright sunlight, and he squinted his eyes a little, thinking about what he was going to say.

"He's a very private man, my employer," he decided to begin with common knowledge. "Preferred to interact with characters in a book than with people."

To his surprise, Finch made a noise that was halfway between a snort and a chuckle.

"You know I read in a research somewhere that reading fiction increases your social skills, while reading non-fiction decreases them," said Reese inconsequentially. He had decided that if slipping in and out of character was a part of the tactic, then he will use it to his best advantage. However, it seemed that Finch was quite partial to that tactic either. The other man half-turned to look at him.

"If you think reading non-fiction is bad for social interaction, what do you think happens when you read computer codes all day?"

Oh, very good Finch. Reese's lips curved into a predatory smile.

"He also likes Sencha green tea," said Reese, all casual in his words. "I picked up the habit from him."

"Oh? And why so?"

"The best way to understand someone is to walk in their shoes," said Reese mildly. "Sometimes when you experience things that they do, the answers come automatically."

Finch seemed genuinely surprised at this, and stopped briefly. "You can tell something about someone by their choice of beverage?"

Reese smiled a 'Do-You-Even-Need-To-Ask-Harold' smile. After a moment he decided to clarify. "My employer doesn't like beer, either. Put these two piece of information together and you at least know what kind of guy he is not."

"Which is?" Finch started walking again.

"Average," said Reese, with a self-satisfied smile.

He was impressed to find that Finch did not falter in his steps. Instead he heard the other man say:

"I have a not-so-average employee as well."

"Oh?" Reese perked up, a smirk toying on his lips. "What is he like?"

"He wishes to be private," replied Finch, with just a tiny touch of vengeance. "Though as his employer, I know more about him than he perhaps would like."

Reese almost laughed. Touche.

"I can't really describe him," said Finch, glancing around the street corner. "He's a man of many things, and I don't want to do him injustice by summarising him in a word or two."

Reese's expression faltered for a moment, genuinely touched by the comment, yet all the while wondering at the back of his mind whether this is just an advanced ploy for an upper hand in the game. He searched Finch's face for some kind of clue, a hint that the man was only half-hearted in his compliment, but he found none.

Finch noticed his gaze and met his eyes, looking a little startled as always, but his expression were composed, calm, rational, familiar, reassuring. They held each other's gaze for a moment, searching, seeing; and it was Finch who finally broke the spell.

"Don't you have to confirm with your employer about the purchase of the book?" he said, smiling a little, as if he knew things that Reese did not.

Reese was bewildered for only a moment, before collecting himself. "Of course," he said agreeably, "Excuse me."

As soon as Reese was out of sight, the phone rang in Finch's ear. Keeping a straight face, Finch tapped it.

"Man of many things, Harold?" Reese's voice held a smile, a soft warm quality that seemed to wash over him again. "I'm flattered."

"I didn't say what things, Mr. Reese." Finch deadpanned, "being quite perverse could be among them."

The man on the other end of the line simply laughed.

"I think it's time to call off this training programme," said Finch dryly, "I have no plans of purchasing any book I already own, let alone from myself, Mr. Reese."

"You are not as bad in social situations as you claim to be, Finch," said Reese, "I was wrong to be worried about you."

"But you are not other people, Mr. Reese." Finch said quietly, matter-of-factly. "You are the one person that connects me to the world. I behave differently around you."

His words were met with a deafening silence, dragging out in the sunset.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch wondered, looking around, "John?"

"I - Finch." When the reply came, Reese sounded strained, and Finch was utterly bewildered.

"Was it something I said?" Finch thought for a moment, and began to apologise. "I know your intentions were good. Perhaps I'm just not meant to be a fieldwork agent. I may never be good around other people, Mr. Reese. It's not your fault, and I admire you for trying to help."

Again, his apology was met with nothing but silence, filled only by the sound of uneven breathing. Finch waited for a moment longer, mildly worried now, and asked again tentatively, "Should we go back?"

"No," came the reply finally, as Reese cleared his throat. "No. I have one more scene for you to participate in. Will you come with me?"

Finch could not help but wonder some more, but decided to let it go for the time being. As he saw the suit disappear from the opposite crossing, he straightened, and began to follow.

"Always, Mr. Reese."

* * *

The night had set in by the time Finch caught up to Reese again. This time Reese seemed to take the role more seriously, going into the subway, walking through underground tunnels, ducking into public bathrooms, sometimes even doubling back to make sure that when Finch followed him, he did so discreetly.

Finch did not have a problem with tailing people, so long as he did not have to talk to them, so he found the task itself quite easy, though tailing Reese was not. Reese was very good at making himself disappear, though he made a point to always drop a hint so Finch could realise his mistake in time and catch up again.

When Reese emerged out of a cab and Finch a close one behind that seconds later, he realises they are back near the Library, and for a moment Finch thought it was over, that Reese had shown him all the evasion techniques he needed to know, and that was that.

To his surprise, Finch saw the man turn, and head in the direction of his hotel.

"Mr. Reese? Are you going back to your hotel already?" he would be somewhat offended, if Reese decided to leave without telling him first. "Are we done?"

"Yes, and no," said Reese, "to your respective questions. As I said, we have one more scene left." before he could react, Reese's voice came again, simple and without emotion.

"Tread carefully Finch. You are on your own from now."

The line suddenly went dead, and Finch looked around in time to see Reese disappear into a crowded bar near his hotel.

"I'm not sure I like this, Mr. Reese," Finch breathed, knowing full well the other person can't hear him. He stalled for a second, squared his shoulders, and marched in.

The bar was crowded, but the atmosphere was amiable. Thankfully the music was not deafening, and laughter filled the air more than smoke. It took Finch only a cursory glance to notice that Reese was sitting in a corner, already a beer on hand.

Finch debated whether to order a club soda, but instead decided to head right over and find out what exactly was going on, this time. He approached Reese carefully, unsure of where he stood. To his great relief, Reese smiled when he got close.

"It's not uncommon for an employee to buy his boss a drink," said Reese in that drawl of his, "so what would you like, Harold?"

Finch relaxed by a fraction, and said, "Club soda would be fine, Mr. Reese."

Reese returned with his soda moments later. "Do call me John." He smiled again, warm, sincere. "We are not in a work setting anymore."

Finch was not sure of that; he was not sure if they could ever leave their work. "We don't exactly work nine to five, Mr. Reese."

"Is there a new number?"

"Not yet."

"Then we are off work, Harold. Relax. I hear it's good for you."

Finch stared back, unable to come up with a reply. Reese grinned.

"Now, tell me about that employee of yours."

Finch narrowed his eyes. "Are we still playing the game?"

Reese looked at him, his face innocent, hiding a smirk. "It's never a game and always a game, Harold."

Now he's called him Harold so many times Finch considered using Reese's first name out of spite. Then he thought better.

"His name is John," declared Finch suddenly. "My employee."

"Mmm." Reese seemed unflustered, and raised his drink. "Ordinary name."

"Yes," Finch agreed, "Though for an extraordinary man."

Reese smiled against his drink.

"I watch him, my John." he said the words so innocently and Reese nearly spluttered into his drink. Finch seemed not to notice, and went on unabashed. "I used to watch him before he became my employee, and sometimes I watch him still."

Reese slowly lowered his drink, saying nothing, betraying nothing.

"I worry about him," said Finch, in a wondering tone, as if he found the subject of his tale fascinating, "I worried about him for a long time. Saw him going through the darkness of his life, not sure whether he would come out the other end."

Reese was studying him intensely now, his expression inscrutable, his eyes blazing, his voice dangerously low. "And then?"

"I could not help him," Finch said lowly, as if in a confession. "I wanted to, like I wanted to help many other people. But I could not." He looked up, looked at Reese, and for a moment, seemed lost for words.

"I'm sorry." Finch finally stared into his drink again, his voice almost imperceptible. "There are things I try - but nothing will make up for my regret. Nothing."

Reese did not realise he was holding his glass with all his strength until he heard a tiny crack. He looked down at his white knuckles, and forcibly relaxed them. He looked at Finch, suddenly seeing how worn the man is, how heavy the burden has been, especially the one that he carries for him.

Finally Reese spoke again. When he did, it was softer than ever before, and any trace of distress was gone from his features, like it had never been there.

"Finch. Tell me something good about your John."

Finch looked up abruptedly at the last two words, his eyes wide and almost startled, but he saw that Reese was being kind, gentle to a fault, and he relaxed a little, again.

"He's smart," said Finch, a little ambiguously. "Kind. Brave. Capable. Extremely competent. Has the heart of the atlantic ocean, and some more."

"Good." Reese was grinning again. "Now tell me a secret of his."

Finch looked surprised at the request, and licked his lips. Reese could see the internal debate that went on in the man's head, picking and choosing, pros and cons, exploring all possible consequences and followups, and could not decide whether he should be worried or amused that Finch knew so many secret of his.

When Finch finally answered, he gave not a secret that belonged to Reese, but belonged to himself.

"Sometimes I watch him sleep," said Finch, softly, barely above a whisper. "When I can't sleep myself."

Reese raised his eyebrows at that, momentarily at a loss for words.

"And there was this once," Finch carried on, as if he was afraid that if he was interrupted he would think better of it, "A particularly hot night, windless. I could not sleep, so I watch him through my monitors. Only to find he was looking back at me." he licked his lips again, fixing his gaze on the table. "Of course, he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at the camera. For all I know, he could be looking at the Machine."

And then Finch looked up, and Reese realised at that moment that he knew, he knew full well that Reese was not looking at the Machine. Reese looked at the camera the way he hoped to look at Finch one day, but dared not. All the raw emotions that have nowhere to hide and instead run rampant during the night. Reese had looked at the blinking red light on the camera, imagining it was Finch watching from the other end, as he wordlessly conveyed his lonliness, his longing, his hopes and fears. For hours on end, on windless and sleepless nights, he would sit and stare at the camera, wishing, thinking, imagining, hoping, hurting. But of course, he never imagined Finch would actually be watching.

It's never a game and always a game.

Finch regarded his reactions nervously, an apology ready at his lips. But Reese seemed to collect himself only after a few minutes of stunned silence, and to his utmost surprise, made a joke.

"I'm sure that sleep-watching is covered somewhere in inappropriate work ethics, Finch."

Finch's lips twitched. "Technically, as you say, we were off work hours by then."

And then, just like that, he watched Reese transform again, stepping into his own skin, no longer slippery about his role, and one hundred percent John Reese.

"And what is it you do, Harold, in your off work hours?" Reese drawled, "aside from watching me sleep?"

"Oh, back to the first person, are we?" It only took Finch a second to decide not to back down. "I sometimes get a glimpse of you working out in your room."

Reese's lips curved upwards devilishly. "Do you like what you see?"

"Uh - " Finch furrowed his brows, uncertain he heard the question correctly. "I don't usually watch you do your push ups, Mr. Reese. It reminds me of my own limitations."

He saw Reese close his eyes briefly as if in pain, and opening them again. This time with a even more charming, inviting, and devious smile. "What else do you watch me do, Harold?" Reese draws out the question lazily, completely undisturbed by the idea. "Do you watch me take a shower, too?"

Finch widened his eyes again. "I'm offended as to you would suggest I would do such a thing, Mr. Reese. Maybe you are a little perverse."

Another look of pain crossed Reese's face briefly, before he managed again, this time with less enthusiasm, "Have you ever seen me naked?"

"Not intentionally, Mr. Reese," said Finch dryly.

Nevertheless, the man perked up. "Really, Finch? How unintentional is your spying on me at different times of the day?"

Finch looked down again at the table. "I apologise, Mr. Reese."

Reese shifted his gaze to Finch and his hand on the table, curled into a fist, and decided, somewhat impulsively, to put his own hand on top of it. The movement was deliberately slow, gentle, as if not to startle him, yet the touch was firm, reassuring, and unambiguous.

Slowly, and after what seemed like an eternity elapsed, Finch raised his head and met his gaze. Reese had expected uncertainty, fear, even disgust, though he had hoped for understanding, compassion, and something he dared not name, yet what he found was not any one of them.

Finch had a weird expression on him. His eyes were bright and beseeching, yet his lips curved strangely upward at a corner, almost hiding a smirk.

Then it hit him.

"Oh. Oh Finch. You sly dog!"

Reese strengthened his grip and breathed a sigh of relief, something like happiness spreading dangerously fast in his chest.

"You knew! You knew and you played along for all this time!"

It was Finch's turn to grasp his hand, and Reese noticed with a certain amount of satisfaction that the man's hand had been cold, his fingers trembling a little, betraying some of the uncertainty that he did not show.

"I did tell you at the beginning, Mr. Reese," he said, "That I know everything about you."

Reese shifted his gaze back and forth between Finch's face and their tightly intertwined hands, unable to believe what was happening. "How long?"

"How long since I knew you were playing a scene of seduction here, Mr. Reese?" said Finch, deliberately evading the question. "As soon as you called my first name and offered to buy me a drink." The look on the other man's face suggested that Reese was not sure whether he should be ashamed, or extremely proud of Finch, so he went on. "I did see it coming for a while. Your worry was palpable when Hester seemed to be flirting with me, and you never displayed similar amounts of worry when I was simply talking to people."

Reese acknowledged this fact graciously. Finch marched on with his level voice: "You wanted to know how I would react to advances, and how it would affect my behaviour in the field. I guess you have your answer." For a moment Finch looked as sly as Reese accused him to be. "I am fully capable of playing with the enemy."

Reese's face split into a wide grin. "So you have watched me take a shower?"

Finch only looked at him with fond but exasperated eyes.

For a moment they sat there, fingers interlocked, Reese gently stroking Finch's knuckles, and Finch pressing firmly into Reese's palm. Then Reese asked again.

"How long, Finch?"

This time, Finch's voice was a little unsteady. "Since I saw you looking at the camera." Then, imperceptibly, and almost as an afterthought, he added: "Because I know I was looking at the monitor in the same way."

Reese felt something hitch in his throat. He tried hard to push it down, and then asked, as if he'd just remembered, "You said - today - that I connect you to this world."

"Yes," Finch answered quickly, almost surprised at the fact that Reese remembered. His expressions softened into almost a reverie, when he stared into mid distance. "Sometimes I look at the world, saw the world, when I can't sleep. You are the only one who has ever looked back, and saw me."

It took him a full moment to realise that he was being kissed, gentle and firm and full of emotion, like all the words left unsaid bursting out from his chest, and his heart started to ache, and he thought for sure he was going to cry.

When he opened his eyes again, Reese was sitting next to him, looking every bit as bewildered and heightened as he was.

"Hell of a day," said Reese quietly. Finch noticed their hands are still together.

"Yes, a bizarre day." Finch admitted, "But a good day."

Their eyes met and they both smiled.

"Still want to watch me sleep tonight, Finch?"

"Oh, I don't know. The surveillance tapes do have grainy images, not very easy on the eyes."

"Easily fixed, if you have better viewing positions."

"Are you suggesting something perverse, Mr. Reese?"

Reese grinned, the happiest grin he had ever seen in a long time.

"Yes, Mr. Finch. Yes I am."

END

* * *

A/N: First fic for POI. English not my first language, unbeta-ed, so do excuse any mistakes. It started as a training fic then turned into a game fic then turned into... well... hope you liked it! :)


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